Grantville Gazette 37

politely on Pam's door to summon her to the wheel. She hastily put on one of her new Chinese suits, and arrived on the bridge sleepy, but resplendent in red and gold brocaded silk. Before she could greet the bosun, Pers reappeared with coffee for her, served in a deep ceramic bowl decorated with evergreen trees. She took a long, grateful sip before trying to speak.

'Uhh, report, please.' She looked to the bosun.

He spoke in the hushed tones they had adopted during their hunt. 'We've sighted a lot of smoke coming from behind that point, Captain. Looks to be from a number of what might be cook fires or possibly land clearing.' That made Pam grimace. The bosun continued, 'It's a pretty certain sign there are people there. Plus, we are fairly sure this is the site of Poste de Flacq on the up-time maps. A good place to build a fort.'

'Okay. Yeah, that could be good or bad, depending on just who it is having breakfast over there.' The caffeine, in somewhat less concentration than the coffee up-time, began to kick in. The discovery of a possible human presence made Pam's heart race with excitement.

The lojtnant spoke next. 'May I suggest we row the longboat that we captured with this ship along the shore and have a look around? We can keep close to shore and stay hidden among the rocks along that point. The seas are fairly calm today.' He was obviously eager to find out what was coming.

'No, I think it's too risky that you'd be seen. Gerbald and I will go have a look overland. You can put us in over there behind the point. It's wooded and will give us plenty of cover.'

The bosun didn't look very happy at that prospect. 'Begging your pardon, Captain, but it's likely going to be very dangerous. They will have sentries.'

'Don't worry, friend. Herr Gerbald and I are very good at staying hidden in the woods. They will never know we were there.'

Gerbald nodded his assurance, his eyes gleaming at the opportunity to do some scouting in his favorite environment, the forest.

After a quick breakfast-which Dore insisted on and to which there was no saying no-Pam and Gerbald arrived on deck ready to head out on their spy mission.

Pam was dressed in whatever green and preferably not-too-shiny clothing she could find amongst the ship's unusual collection. Unfortunately, it was all pretty gaudy. With a grim smile she strapped on the leather gun and ammo belt Gerbald had fashioned for her from materials found on the junk. The Smith and Wesson .38 caliber pistol she had used on four pirates was officially hers now and Gerbald insisted she bring it with her. The truth was, she liked the feel of its deadly weight at her side and would not hesitate to use it again when the time came.

Gerbald, of course, had on his perennial outfit of sage green wool long-coat, a black T-shirt featuring a faded Lynyrd Skynyrd band logo, brown breeches, knee high leather boots and crazy old mustard hat, along with his trusty katzbalger shortsword and pistol grip Snakecharmer shotgun hanging from his wide belt. He was the very picture of a new-fangled USE bad-ass, the toughest stuff of up-time and down-time rolled into one dangerous package. He took a look at Pam's bright green silks and laughed aloud.

'You can fly, you can fly, you can fly!' he sing-songed as he pointed merrily at her undeniably elfin looking outfit.

'That's pretty funny coming from a guy who looks like he's just come from Beyond Thunderdome. By the way, Dr Seuss called and he wants his hat back.'

They shared a brief laugh, then boarded the trusty pinnace, sitting quietly until they were put ashore. The sailors wished them luck and a safe return. They watched until their two spies had vanished into the trees before rowing back to Second Chance Bird with worry etched on their tanned faces.

Chapter Thirty-Six: Contact

French slave colony near the site of Poste de Flacq, Mauritius

'This is not good.' Gerbald peered through the scope, scowling while Pam did the same with her binoculars. They were on the top of the high bluff that formed the point, laying under ferns and watching the harbor below, a deep one with a fairly impressive set of docks already in place. There they saw their would-be guardian, the Muskijl, damaged but still afloat, tied up to the dock behind the massive French warship that had claimed it. There were also several medium-sized lateen-rigged boats, certainly belonging to Arabs or other such denizens of these far seas. Their hearts sank as they saw the Annalise and Ide laying at anchor nearby. Now they knew how these people had accomplished so much building in the months that had passed: Swedish slave labor.

There was a town taking shape on a gently sloping hillside behind a five-meter wall of heavy timbers running some twenty meters back from the shoreline, the beginnings of what would eventually be an imposing fortress. They could see sturdy Swedish men tethered together in work crews making it all happen. To Pam's surprise, their overseers looked like black Africans dressed in white robes with their heads covered, nearly the same garb as the Muslim pirates they had defeated to take Second Chance Bird. Pam was no history expert but, like many Grantvillers, she had become a lot more interested in the subject since she had been thrown backward through it. She knew the West African slave trade was largely run by Africans themselves and that must have been where the French had found these fellows. Pam bit her lip as the slavers shouted at the colonists in what sounded like broken French; the snap of a whip echoed across the quiet bay, making her cringe. Out on the end of the dock, she saw several French soldiers passing around a wineskin and enjoying a little fishing, while their mercenaries oversaw the work for them.

'Scumbags,' Gerbald muttered under his breath.

'There are a lot of them, aren't there?' Pam muttered darkly.

'Yes. Not just the French, who are probably renegades and pirates, but their black slave drivers as well. At least a hundred of the enemy would be a good guess.'

'We'll need help, then.' She bit her lip as she scanned farther back from the harbor. There she saw men and women carrying barrels and performing menial tasks, their feet bound or chained. 'We have to free the enslaved colonists and the crew of the Muskijl and use them against their captors.' Gerbald looked doubtful. Pam gave him an encouraging nudge with her elbow. 'Come on, that's how they do it in the movies! It's worked for us so far.'

Gerbald gave her an unconvinced smile. 'A risky proposition at best. The Swedes will be tired and weak from ill use. Just trying to contact them at all while they are under guard will be risky. They are bound. The ropes we can cut through quickly but the chains will require either more time or a key. It will be difficult.' Gerbald's expression was grim.

'Okay. We told Second Chance Bird to give us a week out here in the field before taking further action. Let's take our time, lay back and watch for a while. Once we know more about the routines here, we can move.'

Gerbald grinned at her with wry amusement. 'Yes ma'am, Captain Pam!' he said in his best West Virginia drawl. He was always full of pride in his mastery of the accent and American slang and seldom missed a chance to show it off. 'And when we're ready we can open up a king-sized can of whoop-ass all over them suckas! KA- BLAM!'

Pam rolled her eyes as the two of them vanished back into the shadowy forest, sly and silent as foxes.

****

Pam and Gerbald watched the slave colony from various vantage points over the next three days. The Swedish colonists looked fairly healthy despite their ordeal, at least from a distance. They were a robust lot and were weathering the hardships as well as could be. At night they were housed in makeshift huts in an open meadow fenced with an imposing array of ten-foot high bamboo stakes. The few children they had brought along were kept in the enclosure all day, tended by the expedition's few elderly. Pam saw that even this group was given work to do, weaving rope and baskets. The sight of the children and the old folks put to work by their new masters made Pam's blood boil.

Oh, I'm going to put the hurt on those froggie bastards just as soon as I'm able, she thought redly, a part of her shocked at the depth of her own wrath. The men had been put to work logging and